


Five Times Bertie Interrupted Jeeves, And One Time He Did Not

by Bittercape (bittercape)



Series: Jeeves and the Inconvenient Emotions [2]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: 5+1 Things, Longer timeline, M/M, Post-Slash, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittercape/pseuds/Bittercape
Summary: Small ficlets from various points during "Jeeves and the Inconvenient Emotions"
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Series: Jeeves and the Inconvenient Emotions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976821
Comments: 14
Kudos: 65
Collections: Fic In A Box





	1. In the Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felix814](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felix814/gifts).



I was at a critical point with the soufflé. I was trying out a new recipe, one that I had secured from M. Anatole after much persuasion and flattery, and it was rising most satisfactorily in the oven when the bell rang, signalling Mr. Wooster’s imminent arrival. 

I wanted to fling my hands in the air in imitation of M. Anatole’s gallic despair, but instead I sighed, removed the soufflé from the oven the few crucial minutes too early, and watched as it deflated sadly in the cool air of the kitchen. 

I was ready at the door when Mr. Wooster came in, and he was, as ever, delighted that I knew he was coming and ready to take his hat and coat. He would be spared the disappointment of the soufflé, and I would try again another day. Currently, I would have to rush to produce an acceptable apple tart for pudding. 


	2. In the Bookshop

Normally I do not enjoy a mess. I am naturally drawn to order and cleanliness, and few things pleases me more than perfectly folded shirts or a well sorted kitchen cupboard. Bookshops, however, defy all my usual preferences. The more overcrowded and labyrinthine and chaotic they are, the more I enjoy them. And this particular bookshop was perfect. I had never seen it before, and if I were to be fanciful, I would imagine it was temporarily removed from its natural time and place, and put here for me to enjoy for just a brief time. 

I was perusing the titles, wondering what unknown treasures were hiding in the shelves. I doubted the proprietor even knew all the items in here, and he seemed distracted and exhausted and more than a little rude, so I found him best avoided. His hair was entirely improper and uncared for, and he kept mumbling and cursing to himself, so I let him be by his desk and let the magic of the shelves engulf me, for a brief period of time. 

My mind was entirely occupied with the rare gift in my hands, a used collection of the poems of Theognis, when I was interrupted by a touch on my arm. I looked up, startled, to meet the eyes of Mr. Wooster. He seemed a bit flustered, but explained he had gotten lost among the shelves and would like to leave. I sighed inwardly, and took the book to the proprietor, but he could not identify a price and eventually told me to take the book and leave in his exasperation. Mr: Wooster took my arm with some trepidation, and we left.

Some days later, I passed the same way, but when I looked for the bookshop, it was like it had never been there. 


	3. In the Mechanic’s Workshop

Mr. Williams, the mechanic, was explaining the carburettor, finally having realised that I wanted to understand it well enough to be able to fix it myself. Mr. Wooster’s car was fast and sporty, but the engine was a sensitive beast, and it tended to have fits of temper at the least convenient times. After a lengthy conversation, Mr. Williams had clarified that the carburettor was what most frequently went wrong in that model, and he had taken it apart to small components, explaining each separate piece and how they fit together. He had just gotten to the point of putting it back together when I heard a familiar voice from the entrance.

“I say - hello?”

Mr. Williams rose from his seat to go talk to my employer, and I stayed behind, studying the parts. I thought I would have a good chance at putting it back together by myself, but I would rather learn properly from an expert. 

The mechanic returned, with Mr. Wooster in tow. He seemed a little bemused, but happy enough.

“What ho, Jeeves! I came to check on the car, and our friend here told me you had taken up as a mechanic!” He smiled brightly, and I became abruptly aware of my appearance. My hair was untidy from rooting around in the engine, my jacket was dropped over the back of a chair, and I was sure to have streaks of motor oil somewhere. Mr. Wooster eyed my bare forearms briefly, but did not seem disapproving. Mr. Williams continued his lesson, and Mr. Wooster leaned against my shoulder, listening attentively.


	4. In the Haberdashery

The haberdashery was a magical place. Not only were there a seemingly endless number of small items, all designed to make life easier in a tiny little manner, but Mrs. Carter, the woman behind the counter, seemed like a librarian in her knowledge, ever delighted to share the most detailed information about any given item in her shop. She was fascinating. And as she was eager to share her vast knowledge, I was eager to suck it all up like a sponge. 

I originally came in to enquire after some high quality hooks for chorus girls’ costumes, seeing as the hooks they had previously used could not take the strain of their vigorous dancing. Mr. Wooster’s tailor had recommended this particular shop, and although it was a little out of my way from my other errands, I found the visit well worth the inconvenience. 

I purchased a few of the hooks and their corresponding eyes, and went to look further into the shop. There were incredible numbers of different kinds of ribbons in varying materials, widths, colours, and weaving techniques. Mrs. Carter explained them all. I discovered an entire wall of buttons, and was happy to find replacement mother-of-pearl buttons for Mr. Wooster’s favourite shirt - which had unfortunately come home with half its original buttons after a particularly interesting lunch at the Drones Club. I speculated on using the firm elastic she recommended me to make extra loops on my apron, so I could keep the various utensils within easy reach, but eventually decided against it as it would look less than dignified. 

I was admiring the different sizes and shapes of needles when the bell on the door rang, and the dulcet tones of Mr. Wooster rang out. 

“Jeeves? Is that you?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered, and straightened up. 

“Jolly good! I was passing by and thought I recognised that impressive onion of yours, what?” He patted me on the shoulder and lingered by my side while I paid Mrs. Carter.

We shared a taxicab home, and he spent the journey telling me about a strange duck he had seen in the park, and I had to be careful to not look at him adoringly.


	5. In the Shower

The water was comfortingly hot, and I could feel it relaxing the tense muscles in my neck. The last few days had been incredibly stressful, and I relished the opportunity for a little comfort. Mr. Wooster was out, and he would not need hot water until the morning. Thus, I could indulge in a long shower, the kind of which I rarely allowed myself, but that I had taken with alarming frequency over the last couple of weeks. I blamed the tension from my confused emotions towards my employer, not yet properly repressed, and reassured myself a few long showers were preferable to revealing myself, and possibly being dismissed. 

I stretched luxuriously before reaching for the soap to wash my hair. I thought I heard a noise, but what could it be but the creaking of the building? I did not bother to turn around. I washed my hair, taking care to get all traces of brilliantine out. I washed my face, and my body, and scrubbed my skin with a rough cloth to keep any dry patches smooth. I bent down to clean my feet properly, and got water in my eyes as I always did. 

When I turned off the water and reached for my towel, I looked straight at Mr. Wooster. I had no indication of how long he had been there, but his hair had started to curl from the humidity of the air, and unless it was raining outside … I forced the thought away and realised I had been standing completely nude before him for several long seconds. His cheeks were getting pink. I forced myself into action, reached for the towel and wrapped it around my waist.

“Sir?” I enquired, in an attempt to understand why he was here. He looked at me, eyes dark and confused, and he seemed at a loss for words.

“You know, I have forgotten what I wanted to ask,” he said, and laughed uncertainly. “Carry on, Jeeves,” and then he bolted out of the bathroom. I saw my own quizzical expression in the mirror, and heard a few muffled thumps. It sounded like someone was banging their head on the wall, but that couldn’t be the case. 

“Sir?” I shouted, but I got no answer and the thumping stopped.


	6. In the Morning

When I woke up, it was to a familiar room, but not my own. The curtains were open, letting in the grey morning light, and I could feel Bertram stirring beside me. I turned over to look at him, and he was a glorious sight. His hair was all over the place, his mouth was still red and slightly swollen from kissing, and his eyes were merely slits. He smiled at me like I was a glorious sight as well, and then he yawned in my face. 

“Oh, pardon me,” he said, and I laughed. Even when yawning, he was beautiful. 

“Do you have to get up already?” he asked, and I looked at the clock by his bedside. It was 7:30, a scandalously late hour for me, but still early for him. 

His hand was wandering distractingly over my stomach, and I felt my breath hitch and certain other parts awaken. 

“Well,” I said, “did you want your tea?”

“Silly man,” he bit my shoulder gently. “I don’t want to interrupt your morning ritual, if you want to do whatever it is you do at this godforsaken hour.”

“The morning ritual can stand to be interrupted, or even changed permanently,” I said, and hauled him on top of me. 


End file.
